


Wrath or Lust

by myworldisbiworld



Series: Sins & Virtues [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Instant Attraction, Masochism, Only Joseph Can Judge Me, Sadism, Smut, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myworldisbiworld/pseuds/myworldisbiworld
Summary: Rook's second encounter with John Seed surprises them both.Which sin will she choose?





	Wrath or Lust

**Author's Note:**

> HEY so I took off the Rape/Non-Con tag, but this is still DUBIOUS CONSENT. Not that I expect you guys to be trapping people in your bunkers.
> 
> But if you ARE... PM me.

Rook woke when the door slammed shut, rusted metal hinges screeching. The sound had no time to echo against the damp dungeon walls, the room already filling with a haunting whistle.

John.

He set set something down on the table beside her before moving on, not bothering to glance at her, still whistling along. The dungeon was uncomfortably warm, but Rook was sure her racing heartbeat and utter terror had something to do with the sweat that soaked her, too. Rook’s stomach turned at the thick scent of blood, sweat, and human filth.

Across the room, dimly lit in sickly orange, Hudson kept her head hung low, sniffling. John busied himself with his toolbox, still whistling along, brushing his hands across the wooden desk.

But then he turned to her and smiled.

“My parents were the first ones to teach me about the Power of Yes.” He turned and began to fiddle with his tools, pulled out a staple gun and tagged something to the wood plank wall. Rook’s eyes struggled to make out what it was for a moment.

“One night, they took me into the kitchen, and they threw me on the ground, and I experienced pain after pain after pain after pain--”

He slammed the stapler down on the table and snapped his head towards Rook.

“And when I didn't think I could take any more, I did.”

Terror threatened to overwhelm her as John walked over and turned the lamp to her face. Those twinkling, icy blue irises skimmed over her face, taking in each cut and bruise, then he picked up his tattoo pen.

Hudson immediately started to flinch and whimper at the buzzing sound of the machine turning on, but John paid her no heed, his gaze fixed on Rook. Assured it was working, he set the pen aside and drew closer.

“Something broke free inside. I wasn’t scared, I was clear. I looked up at them and I started to laugh. And all I could say was yes.”

Rook remained deathly still as his hand wrapped around her throat, staring back at him unblinking. Captured by this maniac and locked away in a shitty bunker, torture seemed inevitable. But, no matter what happened once the pain began, she could at least know she had been brave at first. The skin of his palms was rough against the tender flesh, but his touch was light, testing.

John smiled wide, almost chuckling, before he dropped his hands to her chest and ripped open her T-shirt.

“I spent my entire life looking for _more_ things to say yes to,” John continued, his voice carefully even. His eyes drifted over her exposed chest, took in the sight of her full breasts and sports bra. Again, he smiled broadly, as if satisfied with his catch, then took a step back and picked up a moistened sponge.

“But it was Joseph who showed me how selfish I was being, always receiving… always _taking_.”

Rook hissed at the touch of cool sponge to her hot flesh, hyper-sensitive in anticipation of pain. John’s pearly white teeth flashed between chapped lips. His fingertip hung over the edge of the sponge, drawing patterns on her skin as he wiped her chest down. Rook cursed herself but couldn’t stop the heat that was pooling between her legs, her nipples hardening underneath the thin cloth of her bra.

“The best gift isn’t the one you get, it’s the one you give and giving takes courage.”

John’s eyes flicked down, undoubtedly noticing the new stiffness of her nipples. Rook burned scarlet with shame, her already erratic breathing worse, but John was already lifting his eyes again, eagerly capturing her gaze.

“The courage...” he paused, withdrawing and setting aside the sponge. He glanced between the two women. “...to _own_ your sin. To etch it onto your flesh and carry its burden and when you have endured -- when you have _truly_ begun to atone -- to cut it out like a cancer and display it for all to see.”

Rook grit her teeth together as Hudson wriggled futilely in her chair, eyes overflowing with tears. Her heart ached for the other woman--as scared as Rook was right now, it was nothing compared to what Hudson had been forced to suffer. She repeated this in her mind, desperately trying to steel herself against the storm to come. She had to keep fighting, even if she knew she would break.

“My god, that’s courage.”

John swept his eyes toward Rook again, breathing deeply.

“I'm going to teach you courage,” he began, and Hudson began to screech behind her bindings. John ignored her, continuing to only stare at Rook. “Teach you how to say yes so you can confront your weakness. Confront your sin.”

His voice rose with rage and wonder, filling the room and resonating off the filthy steel walls.

“You will swim across an _ocean_ of pain and emerge... free.” John held up a knife at Rook as he crossed the room to her again. His voice lowered as he leaned in close again, drew the blade lightly across her collarbone, leaving a stinging trail in its wake. “For only then can you truly begin to atone.”

John watched with amusement as Rook’s eyelids faltered, her body struggling to handle the stress hormones that had flooded her bloodstream. Smirking, he sauntered back to his workbench and leaned against it.

“So, who wants to go first, hm?”

Rook knew his game, knew he wanted her to beg and plead and then offer Hudson up. But she forced herself to look at the other woman, so close to shattering into a million pieces, and Rook found herself equal parts broken-hearted and inspired.

Fully knowing she was going to _thoroughly_ _and painfully_ regret this decision--and that she’d probably never be able to make the same choice twice--Rook croaked out one word.

“Yes.”

John’s eyes widened with his smile, maniacal glee overtaking his features.

“Yes! _YES_!” he cried, creeping toward Rook. “You’re not going to regret this, I promise. But now, before we begin, I think it’s only proper that Deputy Hudson goes back to her room.”

John turned away, tossed the knife aside. Hudson jerked violently when John gripped the back of her chair, but there was nowhere for her to go. Wheels squeaked as he pushed her forward, closer to Rook, until they were nearly side by side.

“Shh, shh,” he whispered to the whimpering Hudson. “I am not here to take your life. I’m here to give it to you.”

John fixed his cold gaze on Rook again, but she could see Hudson staring at her in her peripheral vision. The way the woman’s eyes were wide with shock and fear sent chills down Rook’s spine, but also served to harden her resolve. Hudson didn’t deserve to carry this pain alone.

John leaned over, breathing heavily through his teeth, his expression no longer a smile. No, he was all predator now, caught on the scent of the hunt and ready to make the kill.

“I’m going to open you and pour your worst fears inside,” he hissed through clenched teeth, wrapping one hand around her throat as he rested his other hand on her shoulder. Both sets of fingers dug in and Rook struggled to inhale before he cut off her air entirely. 

“And as you choke, your sins will reveal themselves,” he continued, cool voice little more than a whisper. “Only then will you truly understand the Power of Yes.”

Flesh and bone crunched under his increasing grip, sending spots across Rook's vision. Hudson’s fire returned and the other woman struggled in her chair, trying to lunge for John, but Rook kept her blurry eyes focused on the cultist. Rook had to keep his attention, had to keep him away from Hudson--

“Take her away!” John called, suddenly lifting his head and releasing Rook.

A pair of cultists barged in, throwing the heavy bunker door open with with resounding thud. Without a word, they dragged Hudson out, slamming the door shut behind them.

The echoes of the door slamming shut continued until they were in absolute silence. John had his back to her, hovering over his workbench, but his hands were still on the wooden surface.

“Now, isn't this nice? Some quiet time for the two of us,” he muttered slowly. John peered at her over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Rook said nothing, but she found the strength to stare him straight in the eye. There was something left in her, at least. Something that dared her to be defiant in the face of certain pain. Something that pushed her to speak.

“Fuck you,” she rasped, damaged throat struggling to hold a stable breath.

John stood up straight, turned to face her with a blank mask. “The Father has taken a great interest in you. Seeing what you have… _accomplished_ in Hope County, it’s clear you are something special.”

He took a step closer, eyes cast down almost shyly. “Joseph is never wrong.”

“But _you_ are,” Rook snapped. “You’re wrong all the time.”

“Mistakes, like sins, can be forgiven, if one is worthy,” John replied calmly, taking another step forward. “The question is, are you worthy? Joseph tells me you must reach Atonement… or the Gates of Eden will be shut to me.”

Rook’s skin crawled as John’s fingertips brushed over her hand, her knuckles white as she gripped the arms of the chair. He traced circles along the back of her hand before slowly trailing them up her bare, wounded forearm.

“You know _some_ pain,” he murmured, fingertips finding the old scars that littered the inside of her wrist. Firmly, almost painfully, he grabbed her hand and twisted, forcing her to expose the ruined flesh of her inner arm. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, humming a tune somewhere between chastising and pity.

“Not enough pain. Not _nearly_ enough.” John’s fingers dug into the old scars, sending sparks of pain up Rook’s arm.

 

Bones and cartilage crushed together under his fierce grip, punishing the fresh cuts and bruises already there. She refused to let anything show on her face, staring back at him with all the defiance her tired, broken body could muster. Rook knew she would break, knew she was going to end up broken and begging before this man if she couldn’t find a way to escape.

“We will find your sins together, Rook. You will tell me everything you never dared tell yourself.” John’s grip tightened, his keen eyes fixed on her face, but the intensity of his gaze only reinforced her desire to stay strong. “And then you will Atone.”

“My sins are my own, you fucking freak,” Rook spat, using her pain to fuel her rage. “Only God can judge me.”

John leaned closer, his eyes cast down and watching the rise and fall of her chest. Rook instinctively drew herself back, her skin prickling at the sensation of his warm breath on her bare skin. She could see her reflection in his blue sunglasses--short hair ruffled into a bird’s nest, face littered with new wounds...

Eyes wide with fear.

“You mistake my intention. I am not here to judge you. I am here to set you free,” he told her quietly, letting his eyes wander along her collarbone and up to her throat. The glistening tip of his wet tongue slid slowly along the top row of his teeth, lingering on a canine tooth.

Rook swallowed nervously, and instantly cursed herself for it. John’s cold eyes lit up immediately, his eyebrows shooting up, his tongue paused on his top lip. If only by millimeters at a time, he gradually drifted closer, his erratic exhaling now hot and _heavy_ on her exposed chest.

“The pain of Atonement is determined by the gravity of your sin,” he intoned absently, as if he weren’t thinking about what he was saying. Those blue eyes shifted out of view as he drew too close for her to fully see his face.

Rook’s only warning was the briefest brush of his beard and lips before John sunk his teeth into her throat. A yelp of pain escaped her, dissolving into a moan when his tongue replaced his teeth. John hungrily lapped at the blood that leaked from her broken skin, giving her the briefest respite from pain before he bit her again, this time closer to her shoulder.

Again, she cried out, and again, she moaned when his tongue ran along her neck and up to her ear. Rook clenched her teeth when he nipped her ear, worrying the lobe with his teeth. That slick, hot tongue explored the shell of her ear between bites before shifting to her cheek to taste her tears. He ran his tongue along her jawline, decidedly avoiding her mouth, working his way to her other ear. Flashes of pain soothed by kisses and laps, all done without a word between them.

She was panting when John finally pulled away, on the verge of tears as a fire roared in her lower belly. Between her legs she felt herself _throb_ , in desperate need of relief.

But _why_?

Incredulous, she turned her stunned gaze on her assailant, only to have him looking as dazed as she felt. John’s eyes were locked onto the bites, his tongue slowly licking her blood off his lips. The sight only worsened Rook’s growing ache, added to the undeniable wetness at her core.

Did he do this to all the women he tortured? Or _everyone_ , gender irregardless? Rook tried to remember the marks on Hudson, but her squad mate’s clothes had been relatively undamaged. It was a small, strange relief--anything that was exposed was a mess, but the cultists seemed to have left the rest of her alone.

John was staring at her again, his breath steady and calm. Rook couldn’t make sense of his expression--Uncertainty? Curiosity?

Awe?

Adrenaline flooded her bloodstream as his lips descended on hers. He gave her no time to think, no time to respond, his teeth and tongue already taking all he wanted. Rook tasted the metallic flavor of her own blood and felt both her neck and sex pulse in response. Everything in her mind screamed to run, to fight--this man, this _monster_ was going to kill her, or _worse--_

But there was no denying how her body lit up for him, craving more and more. Rook clamped her teeth down on his bottom lip and tasted _his_ blood--she needed to see this damn bastard bleed, see him as broken and confused as she felt right now.

Warm and fresh, the bitter taste fueled the fire inside her. Rook bit harder until she could almost feel her teeth pressing together through his lip.

John yanked his head back, a hand flying to his bloodied mouth, red droplets smeared across his pale skin and glistening in his beard. Again, he stared at her with that wide-eyed, inexplicable expression, his chest heaving as he fought to control his breath. That slicked back hair had started to come undone, a few strands sneaking past his sunglasses to tickle his forehead. All of his carefully contained persona was chipping away to something far more primal.

She wanted more of _that_ , too.

“So, your sin is Lust, then,” he muttered, eyes still stuck to hers as a slow smile spread across his face. Rook watched the expression pull the wounds of his bleeding lip further open, fresh droplets blooming up to then roll down into his beard. And Rook knew she wanted to taste him again.

“You…” Rook wanted to close her eyes, gather her thoughts and get away from the intensity of his gaze, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. With effort that came from her toes, she managed to sputter out, “ _I_ didn’t kiss _you_.”

“No. No, you did not.”

John wiped the blood from his lip with his thumb, smearing it along the digit. Rook stared at his hand, her eyes following his thumb, her mouth instinctively watering. Unconsciously, her lips parted.

“But you are a temptress, aren’t you?”

Rook saw him flash a smile before he snatched her by the jaw, his ring and pinky fingers digging into her throat. She struggled briefly, until she felt his bloodied thumb press against her bottom lip.

Her mouth opened without her permission, tongue reflexively seeking out the coarse pad of his thumb. There was that same delicious taste of him from earlier, all the more delectable from being served on his thumb.

Rook had no idea what was happening, but she couldn’t stop. She swirled her tongue around his digit, chasing more than the taste of him, but also the _sensation_ of him in her mouth.

More, more, _more_...

When John pulled his hand away, his thumb was wrinkled with moisture and utterly devoid of blood.

Without thinking, Rook again snapped her jaw shut, keeping his thumb from escaping. This time, she didn’t draw blood, but the sudden fire in John’s eyes made her wish she had.

_God… why did she want more?_

“Joseph was right,” he rasped, pressing his thumb down on her tongue as he gripped her jaw harder. “You’re not here by accident or by chance. No, God brought you here to us.”

John chuckled as he shook his head, a mixture of amazement and… relief?

“To _me_ ,” he whispered breathlessly, eyes wide and bright. Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he tore the rest of her shirt open, placed his palms on her chest above her breasts. Rook shivered under his touch, equal parts fear and rage and desire, swirled into a deadly mix that threatened to break her faster than any torture.

No, this _was_ torture, yet all John was doing was feeling her wild heartbeat. It was this new, painful _need_ that had burned far past want that made her insane. Rook had never felt this way, about anyone and anything, and, panicking under his unwavering gaze, she leaned forward to kiss.

The movement shocked them both, and Rook found herself pausing just before their lips touched. Again, she felt his breath on her and savored every warm tickle. This close she also caught the bitter scent of blood.

That was what did it. Unable to control herself, she extended her tongue and licked his wounded bottom lip.

John unleashed as well, one hand surging up to tightly curl his fingers in her hair. Though she kept it short and practical, there was just enough for him to sustain a strong grip. He didn't force her head anywhere, instead using his strength of keep her in place as he pushed his own face forward, offering his mouth to her.

Rook greedily took all he gave her, moaning into his mouth at the sensation of his fingernails scraping against her chest. Ashamed but too desperate to let it stop her, she arched her back and thrust herself forward, her breasts aching for his hands.

John gave her relief, cupping one breast and testing the weight of it in his hand. The gesture was oddly gentle and entirely out of place, until he slipped his hand into her bra and twisted her nipple. Rook keened, losing herself in the shock of pain, breaking their kiss. John took advantage of her weakness, yanking her head back by the hair and exposing the unmarred side of her neck.

Rook was ready for his bite this time, aching for it, even. His teeth landed at the curve over her neck, an inch from her collarbone. This bite was wide and demanding, as if he were trying to consume her whole.

He let go of her hair to use both hands on the remaining shreds of her shirt, stripping her down to her bra. When he whipped out a pocket knife, Rook felt a hot flash of fear, but instead of using the knife on her, he cut the binds at her wrists.

John paused for a fraction of a second, realizing what he was doing. Rook took the moment to lunge forward, knocking John to the ground and sending his knife skittering off into the damp shadows. Straddling his thighs, Rook reached down and wrapped both hands around his neck.

But she didn't squeeze. No, her hands, firm and solid, stayed still, as did John's arms, still lying on the floor. Wide-eyed, he stared up at her, his dark hair disheveled and his cheeks red with exercise. And then a slow smile cut across his handsome face.

“Wrath or lust?” he purred, all smug confidence, his throat vibrating under her palms. “It's all up to you, Deputy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did warn you.


End file.
